


A Little Time

by pene



Category: Glee
Genre: Canonical Character Death - Finn Hudson, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pene/pseuds/pene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>6.05 post-ep</p><p>
  <i>The kiss is not the happily ever after. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Time

**Author's Note:**

> Finn is mentioned.
> 
> This is Klaine fic but is written in reaction to an episode in which Kurt is going on dates with Walter and Blaine is living with David Karofsky

Kurt grew up on classic Disney and the Golden Years of Hollywood. His pre-teen heart beat to well-worn romances. The boy met the girl, there was wooing, there were misunderstandings and eventually the pair overcame every complication and heartache and fell deeply in love. After that, they kissed. Kurt always blushed and hid his face when they did, but he knew what it meant. One perfect kiss and the lovers already had their happily ever after. 

He’s in his 20s now. He’s grown up. He’s learned that no matter how complicated the story, no matter how deep the love, the kiss is not the happily ever after. 

“So that’s all you needed to do?” asks Rachel. They’re sitting side by side on the edge of the stage after the invitationals, looking out at the darkened auditorium. “You just needed to kiss Blaine and the hideous Sue puppet thing would let you leave.” 

“Rachel. There is no _just_ about it.” He’d expected kissing Blaine to bruise his already aching heart. It was even worse than that. Kurt touched his lips to Blaine’s, shared Blaine’s breath - he forgot himself and curled helplessly into Blaine. And he did it knowing that it was the last time. This wasn’t the happy ending, it wasn’t even a new beginning. He can still feel Blaine’s fingers, sweet and sure at his neck, a reminder of everything Kurt had and threw away. 

But Rachel looks a little dubious. “I mean, I know that’s awful and really intrusive but-” she frowns.

“But what, Rachel?” 

She crosses one leg over the other and smooths her hands over her skirt. “Kurt, you knew how much I needed you. How much our glee kids needed you. Couldn’t you have-” 

“What,” Kurt says. There’s an edge to his voice. Couldn’t he have- There’s no way he has to answer that. He exhales his frustration. “Last I checked we won. You won without me.” 

“We did win!” she smiles. “We sent them all home with nothing. It was amazing.”

Kurt bites his tongue and doesn’t say that next time he’ll be around to help and maybe they’ll be able to win on their own terms _without_ cheating, however little he can sympathize with Sue. Admittedly they might need a dance instructor and choreographer. Maybe Brittany can help. Or Mike could come back and do a week’s intensive. There are a few people he knows from NYADA who would help out for a fee if he doesn’t mention Rachel.

But though the performance lacked any real dance moves and might not have been the best of the competition, it was genuinely good. It had a depth of emotion that aligned perfectly with the song list. However little Kurt had wanted to feel, every note the New Directions sang lit up in his heart. 

After a moment he goes on. What he says is not about show choir at all. “The thing is, Blaine knows what I want. I sat there in Scandals and I told him” _Straight as an arrow_ , he’d told himself. Kurt won’t quickly forget the fluttering sting of his nerves, the fairy lights overhead, Blaine’s hand slipping away from Kurt’s as Karofsky approached. “That hasn’t changed,” he admits.

“I know,” says Rachel. “I know.”

“So how could I- I had to wait until he said we should do something. If I pushed him-” He can’t even say to kiss me. “If I pushed him at all I’d be exactly like her. And maybe I’d be doing it for a good reason but still. He’s the one with the boyfriend.” It dries his mouth to say it, still. “He’s the who doesn’t want that. He had to be the one to take the step.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I get it.”

Kurt blinks. All he can see, sharp on the back of his eyes, are the elevator walls and Blaine’s desperate, hopeful, impossibly beautiful gaze. That too familiar face, asking Kurt for reassurance that they could kiss this once and it could mean nothing. Asking for something Kurt had no idea how to promise. He blinks again and the house lights glisten. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

“It was nice,” he says.

“The kiss?”

God. Nice is about the last word Kurt would use for that. “No. I mean that whole weird day, stuck in a fake elevator with Blaine. We kind of had a good time together. It was nice.”

She nods sadly, then stands up and turns to face him. “And in two hours, Kurt Hummel, you have a date with Mr. Tall, Dark and Adult. That will be nice too. Maybe more than nice.” She holds out a hand. “So. Kitty’s forced the home ec kids to make us some snacks and Mason and Madison brought their karaoke machine. Do you need to go home and make yourself gorgeous, or do you have time to stop in and celebrate a win with our kids?” 

Downstairs, Rachel swings open the door to the choir room. It hits the wall with a bang. The kids look around but no one stops singing.

Kurt grabs a cookie from the table and pulls out a chair to watch them. There’s no Tina or Artie or Mercedes here. There’s no Finn. They’re nothing like his Glee Club. They’re probably nothing like the Glee Club that came after that. They have something of their own though. Roderick sings a rich counter to Jane’s melody and the twins harmonize in adorably eerie synchronicity. Spencer tips back in his chair and taps a hand on his thigh. Kitty smiles as though she created them all herself. 

When Kitty steps in and steals the microphone from Madison, Spencer heads across the room toward Kurt. Kurt tries not to look surprised. 

“So,” Spencer says in an easy drawl. His eyes flick to Kurt’s face and don’t look easy at all. “I figured your little club could use my help after all.”

“That we could,” Kurt agrees. “I appreciate it. And I caught the end of your duet with Kitty.”

“Pretty rock star, huh?” 

Kurt pauses. There’s a better time for giving notes than now. “The few bars I heard sounded great.”

Spencer nods to himself. He pulls out a chair and settles in beside Kurt, stretching out his long legs. He touches his plastic cup to Kurt’s. Kurt wonders why he came over but he meets Spencer’s eyes over the rim and takes a drink. 

Spencer’s a good looking guy. Very good looking. Kurt’s not interested in that for himself, of course. Even if Spencer weren’t a student, it’s been a long time since Kurt’s interest turned to quarterbacks and he’s never had an interest in assholes. But he wonders what it’s like being Spencer, wonders whether Spencer is dating, and how he learned to seem so publicly certain of himself without finding himself thrown in a dumpster.

“Coach tells me you’re Finn Hudson’s brother,” Spencer says. 

Kurt breathes through the swift pressure in his lungs. “I am.” His voice sounds high to his own ears.

“That’s cool. He was a good one. Great quarterback.” It’s not really strange that Finn can bring them together despite the fact that their other commonalities can’t.

“So they tell me,” Kurt says. “I’m not an expert on football, but he ran Glee Club too. You’d have had a lot to say to one another.” Spencer smiles. 

“Mr. Hummel,” Jane says and Kurt looks up. She hovers over him, her hands folded in front of her. “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to sing a duet with me.”

Oh. Kurt’s ready to say no. He hasn’t sung so much since coming back to Lima. Ostensibly this whole thing is a work-study experience, he’ll be back at NYADA in four months and he needs to keep his voice limber, but every song he toys with solo on the piano becomes some kind of dramatic reminder of all the things he ruined by not being quite committed enough, not quite intimate enough. It’s getting so that everything seems like a song of love lost. And Kurt’s so tired. 

Still. Jane stands there asking so sincerely, with her bright eyes and sweet face and all that ridiculous talent. It costs her something to ask for things she’d like, and he wishes it wouldn’t.

“Okay,” he says. “Yes. I’d love to.”

Her smile is wide. “That’s great, Mr. Hummel. Thank you. Is there something you’d like to sing?” 

And there’s the hitch. Every duet that comes to mind has already been spoiled. 

“You choose,” he says. He tries to sound breezy. “I’m pretty sure I can handle some Broadway or pop, or really anything that falls under the diva category.” She nods sagely, taking him seriously, as Blaine so often did. “Oh. I’m not so hot at rap,” he adds. So many lives not lived, but that’s not really one of them. 

When Kurt looks at his phone, later, it’s already almost 6 and he has to dash to be ready for Walter to pick him up at 7. He takes the stairs at a run, planning tonight’s outfit as he goes.

There’s still an out of order sign on the fake elevator. Its doors are closed. Kurt's heart stutters as he runs past.

**

“I’m taking you further afield tonight, Kurt,” says Walter from the front seat of his black BMW. He pats the passenger seat as Kurt climbs in.

“That sounds exciting. Where are we going?” Kurt asks.

Walter eyes him across the center console. “Do you like surprises?”

Kurt hesitates. “I like good surprises,” he allows.

“Then let me take you on one,” Walter says.

Kurt nods his agreement. Throughout the forty minute drive he holds his hands in his lap and doesn’t let his fingers creep up to trace his lips. 

The restaurant is in Westerville county. It’s tiny and intimate. The menu is largely in French and includes no pricing. The tablecloths are two hundred thread count double damask. The staff are more polished and have better manners than almost anyone Kurt has ever met. Kurt sits up straight in his chair and refuses to be overawed. 

“I’ll have the seared foie grass,” he says when asked. “Followed by the steak tartare.” 

“What do you think? Will we arrange a side of fingerling potatoes” asks Walter, “or would you rather save room for dessert?”

“I can’t imagine saying no to dessert,” Kurt says. Walter’s smile reflects his own. 

They don’t drink wine. Walter didn’t order any on their first two dates. Kurt doesn’t ask why, but he doesn’t mind. He’s eager to know his mind and be in complete command of his reactions. 

“This is nice,” he says. Then looking around the room adds, “More than nice. It’s... very nice.”

“Well, I am very glad,” Walter says, his eyes fond and sparkling. 

The lighting is soft and the food is rich and layered. Conversation shifts lightly between them. If Kurt feels Walter’s eyes on him more than he’d like, he also finds his date funny and awkwardly charming. 

After dinner Kurt sighs over a mouthful of almond macaron. Blaine would love this- He swiftly tamps down on the thought. No doubt Blaine is home with David Karofsky, reading excerpts from a book about alien encounters and ancient civilizations or watching some kind of sport with a thousand rules Kurt would never really want to understand. Blaine is already sharing a life and a bed. And Kurt is here. With Walter. Who takes him to fine dining establishments and trades gossip about local C-list celebrities while being both handsome and attentive. When Kurt reaches for his coffee, Walter takes his hand. Kurt lets him.

On the way home, Walter drives with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on Kurt’s knee. The touch sits unnervingly alongside the memory of Blaine’s hands on Kurt just hours before. Kurt’s skin hums. He looks out the windscreen and the headlights flood the road in front of them. 

When Walter changes gears, Kurt shifts his legs, leans so they stretch more comfortably toward the passenger door. After that Walter keeps his hand on the gear stick. 

“Thank you for tonight,” Kurt says into the quiet purr of the car. “I had a lovely time.” 

“It was very much my pleasure,” says Walter. He turns on the stereo and Nina Simone fills the car. 

When they draw into Kurt’s driveway Kurt unbuckles his seat belt and turns to face Walter. He’s aware there are questions Walter could ask here, and he’s grateful for Walter’s restraint. But Walter is watching him through the dark. And however little pressure Walter has ever placed on him, there’s a level of expectation and desire in his eyes. It rests unhappily in Kurt’s spine.

“Thank you again,” he says. “I had a wonderful night.”

“You said that already,” says Walter, nodding. The smile he gives is gentle and fond. But he’s a perceptive man, any expectation has vanished from his gaze. “Well, good night, Kurt.” 

Kurt climbs out of the car. “I’ll call you.” He stammers a little on the lie.

“I’ll look forward to it,” says Walter as Kurt closes the door. 

Kurt watches the tail lights glow red in the black night. He is suddenly, blazingly angry. Angry with himself, for being unable to move on when everything is telling him he needs to do so. Angry with Sue Sylvester, for taking the little control he could claim, for obliterating his hard-won composure. And angry, too, with Blaine. Not that Blaine’s really done anything wrong. Except for meet and kiss and date and fuck and fall in love with someone who’s the opposite of everything Kurt wants to be. Except for make Kurt feel like a fool. Except for say no when Kurt came running to get him back.

Kurt stands in the dark for a long moment and holds back the tears. He’s spent an evening on a date with another man but he can still feel the ghost of Blaine’s lips on his. 

Upstairs in the safety of his old bedroom, Kurt takes off his jacket and shirt, peels off his skinny pants. He finds soft pajamas and pulls them on before climbing into his bed’s surrounding warmth. There he lies on his back, stares at the ceiling and exhales shakily. His body aches to be touched. 

There’s lube in his nightstand drawer. Kurt’s generous with it on his palm. He slips one hand into his pajama pants and wraps it around his almost soft cock. It hardens as he strokes it, thickening and filling his fist. He pushes his pants down, bites his lip hard and tries not to think about anything beyond the pull of his heart and his cock toward pleasure. 

Outside his closed door, the whole world is silent. He needs more. He wants to hear himself so he makes soft noises as he strokes. He arches his back, lifts his hips and stops pumping his cock so he can fuck up over and over into his hand. He shifts again. The mindless physicality Kurt needs has never really been something he could simply find. 

So he closes his eyes and rifles through all of the fantasy scenarios he has stored in his head. He imagines George Clooney… no, Keanu Reeves bending Kurt face down over a table and pressing his hard body against Kurt’s bare ass. His cock swells, the skin tightening and slightly tacky. He needs more lube. He groans roughly and reaches to the nightstand. 

Rolling back, he switches fantasies and imagines Brian Kinney tugging him through the club, pliant and eager, and into the back room. Imagines Brian Kinney lifting him against the door as it thuds closed. He raises his legs under the sheets to wrap around imaginary Brian Kinney’s thrusting hips. His hips rock upward into nothing. He presses his free fist into his mouth and bites hard.

But the image slips all too easily from the thudding amplified heat of the back room, into a memory of Blaine. 

Not a recent memory. Their sex life in New York had been hot, very hot, but there was too much pain and failure caught up with it. He flashes to somethingg earlier. The first time Kurt fucked Blaine. When there was nothing that could come between them. When everything was perfectly awkwardly perfect. 

The truth is there’s no fantasy that’s brighter than the memory of Blaine’s eyes, wide and unfocused on Kurt’s, or Blaine’s hands clutching the sheets and his soft, insensible grunts of pleasure as Kurt pushed slowly inside him. 

Kurt comes fast, arching helplessly through the bright, agonising burst of it. Then he rolls over and buries his face to sob into his pillow. He doesn't think he'll ever stop.

**

The next morning there’s a text from Blaine. Kurt’s heart leaps as he swipes the message open over his granola. 

_Sue Sylvester must be stopped._

Kurt agrees of course, but he has to acknowledge that’s not what he hoped to read after yesterday. He puts his phone down on the table. It buzzes again. 

_I have a meeting with her at 10._

Kurt hardly hesitates. He replies. _Do you want me to face her down with you?_

The answer comes immediately. _I really really do. If you can._

 _I’ll see you in the courtyard just before ten._

The conversation with Sue runs pretty much as Kurt expected. She’s ridiculous and exasperating and beyond impossible. It doesn’t matter what nonsense she pulls. The sad fact is all Kurt can think about is Blaine’s hands on him through his jacket, touching his shoulders and lower back then fluttering away as though he forgot something. 

In the parking lot Blaine says, “Thank you for coming with me, Kurt. I really appreciate it.” He speaks low and drops his gaze to the sidewalk. His eyelashes are dark against his cheekbones.

“You’re going home?” Kurt asks. He doesn’t really want the answer, mostly just wants Blaine to meet his eyes. 

Blaine looks up. “Not yet, no. I’m on my way back to Dalton. Stopping at one of the sheet music stores first though. I’m pulling together an acapella version of Robbie Williams’ Angels for them. I think it’ll really help boost morale.” He hesitates. “You could join me. If you wanted?” He sounds almost shy. And damn. Damn. Kurt loves him. 

Kurt says. “I wish I could. But we have an impromptu performance to prepare for at lunch break. We’re on a pretty desperate recruitment drive.” He scrunches his face

“It wouldn’t be New Directions without a few unexpected ring ins,” says Blaine. They stand face to face for a moment that stretches too long. 

“Okay,” says Blaine. “I’d better go then.” There’s a stilted movement and then they hug. 

They’ve only rarely been comfortable friends when they’re in the same space. Kurt's had to accustom himself to the feeling that nothing’s fitting quite right. He’ll get used to it again.

“If morale is low you can tell the Warblers that Miss Rachel Berry herself admitted their performance had merit and may even have been better than ours was. But don’t let that story get back to her,” he says. 

Blaine smiles. “Thank you, Kurt. Your secret is safe with me.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

It’s weird to say goodbye with no promise that they’ll see one another tonight or tomorrow or next week or really ever again, except probably at sectionals. 

“I’ll see you soon, Kurt,” Blaine says, softly. His eyes are a little too bright. There’s friendship there, always, but there’s also regret and something else sitting just beneath the surface. Something Kurt hasn’t dared look for in Blaine’s eyes. It might hurt as much as anything else has ever hurt. Hope is terrible and cruel. But there’s no way Kurt can avoid grasping at the tiniest sliver of it. This is Blaine. This is the one place Kurt still wants to see an ever after. 

Blaine climbs into his car. Kurt turns back to the school. He takes it all in. The new kids are going to sing Taylor Swift’s _Blank Space_ in the courtyard. What could possibly go wrong? When he glances back to the parking lot Blaine is still watching. Kurt waves and Blaine starts the car.


End file.
